


The Monty Hall Problem

by sweatervest



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweatervest/pseuds/sweatervest
Summary: “Come on, you two, the Accords aren’t the problem,” Nat says loudly, her voice echoing through the tense silence as the two teams of Avengers face off. “Your idiot egos are keeping you apart; you two just need to bone.”In which Natasha Romanov makes a suggestion and the Civil War is avoided.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93





	The Monty Hall Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreck/gifts).



> How this fic came to be, a summary:
>
>> Wreck: According to Marvel canon (Earth 3490), if Steve and Tony had just banged, the Civil War would have been avoided. 
>> 
>> sweatervest: Too bad Rosa Diaz doesn’t exist in that universe*.
>> 
>> Wreck: I would love a fic with that setup where Natasha is Diaz.
> 
> *This set of scenes, specifically: https://youtu.be/QGxyIQzLeUc
> 
> Anyway, here we are.

“Come on, you two, the Accords aren’t the problem,” Nat says loudly, her voice echoing through the tense silence as the two teams of Avengers face off. “Your idiot egos are keeping you apart; you two just need to bone.”

There is a terrible ringing silence and Steve wonders, briefly, if he’s been whacked by his own shield. 

“What did you say?” Steve manages, his voice squeaking on the end of the question. 

“How dare you, Agent Romanov,” Tony hisses, the suit’s modulation giving his voice a crackle on the end. “I am leading this team!”

“Oh, gross, Widow, those are our dads!” Peter exclaims. “I mean—no, our captains—captain dads—”

“Wait,” says Steve, staring at Peter. “How old—”

“Bone,” Tony snarls. 

“Is this really the time to discuss this?” Rhodes interjects and the resignation in his tone kicks the air from Steve’s lungs. 

“What happens in my bedroom is none of your business!” Tony snaps, flipping the faceplate up. 

“Should’ve kept it off the Internet then,” Clint mutters.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Steve says loudly. “Avengers—”

“ _Bone_ ,” Tony says again, his face turning an interesting shade of red. 

“What happened to ‘world’s leading authority on waiting too long’?” Nat asks innocently. 

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve snaps. 

“I don’t know, man, y’all do have some things you should maybe talk out,” Sam offers. “You know I’m a trained crisis mediator—”

“Not. Necessary,” Steve grits out. 

Rhodes points at Sam. “Tony, I think we should listen to overgrown bird man.”

“Falcon,” Sam corrects, but no one hears it over Tony’s near-shriek of: “ _Yes, thank you,_ I know what ‘bone’ means, Vision!”

“Hey, guys?” Scott interrupts, his voice booming from where towers over them. “I know I’m new and everything, but this seems like something we should maybe talk out before an epic battle?”

Steve tries to catch Tony’s eye, but the other man is looking anywhere but Steve. He’s breathing hard and still flushed, and if he hadn’t had his surgery last year, Steve would be worried about his heart. Steve doesn’t see Clint and Nat make eye contact and have one of their eerie nonverbal conversations. And he also doesn’t notice his own team closing ranks around him. Next thing he’s aware of is Sam and Wanda on either side of him, yanking him forward and after the group ahead that’s treating Tony much the same way.

\--

As far as Tony’s first spin as a team leader goes, it’s not great. Could be worse. They are working together, after all, even if “working together” means “shoving him and Cap into a conference room and shutting the door, but only after confiscating the Iron Man helmet and Captain America shield so there’s a less likely chance of them killing one another, à la gingham dog and calico cat.” 

Vision’s idea, of course.

Tony scowls at the door a minute longer, then turns to face Steve. He’s taken the Captain America helmet off and runs a hand through his hair. The cut he favors these days makes him look more settled into the 21st century. Tougher. Tony spares a moment to remember the softness of the Cap who just woke up…irritating as he was most of the time. Steve looks back at Tony, his face open, but Tony knows him too well not to see the tension coiled in his body. 

Well, Tony thinks, I did say I wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth.

He shucks his gauntlets and sets them aside. Tony presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, grateful for the silence and Steve’s steady presence, as at-odds as they may be right now. The thing was, even if Steve didn’t agree or go along with Tony’s plans, it was because he genuinely thought they weren’t the right ways forward. It sets Tony’s teeth on edge, the inability to compromise, the line in the sand. But then he remembers something Fury shared with him, how Steve had said _we compromised, sometimes in ways that didn’t let us sleep so well at night_ and those helicarriers in the Potomac, Steve going down on one of them because he couldn’t compromise on brainwashed, beaten-to-hell James Buchanan Barnes and fuck if that kind of loyalty doesn’t sweep Tony’s feet out from under him. 

He can’t look at it too closely, how Steve gave everything and this is the first time he’s ever asked for anything. Even if it is a big ask. Tony sees a flash of him again in that ridiculous getup, standing in the wreck of New York, and all Tony had wanted to do was dip him and give him the Times-Square-victory kiss Steve had never gotten a chance to have. 

“Fuck,” Tony says, dropping his hands. 

“Tony?” 

Tony spins. “We’ve tried everything else.”

He has just enough time to see the stunned expression on Steve’s face before Tony is on him. Steve’s back thumps into a wall and his hands come up automatically to break Tony’s grip, then waver. This isn’t a fight. Steve knows it. 

Tony stops, a breath away from Steve’s parted lips. Tony Stark never kissed anyone unless they asked and even the threat of what he’s worked so hard for being cleaved in two won’t change that. Steve is tense under his grip, the drag of his breath studiously even. Most days, Tony would shove until Steve shoved back, but this matters more than anything they’ve clashed on before.

It matters that Steve kiss him or tell him to fuck off. That Steve takes the next step. 

“Tony,” Steve breathes. 

Tony hears the question. “Your choice, apple tart. We give Romanov’s suggestion a try or we go back out for a rematch.”

Everyone, Tony suspects, has wondered how Captain America kisses. Sweet, close-lipped kisses, all tenderness and protection. A snooze. What people forget is it’s Steve Rogers under that cowl of propriety. A scrappy kid from Brooklyn who had plenty of lessons on life being tragically cut short even before Project Rebirth. Who once he had his teeth in something, wouldn’t let it go. 

Steve kisses Tony open-mouthed, the slick heat of his tongue sending a shudder through Tony’s body. Tony clutches at Steve’s shoulders, his hair, and he yields to Steve’s touches that tip his head for a better angle. Tony drags blunt fingernails down the back of Steve’s neck, lapping up his soft moan. 

It’s only a handful of seconds before the first of the fastenings on Steve’s uniform are undone and there’s more of that glorious throat Tony has very recently started to fantasize about licking. Tony presses his nose into the hollow of Steve’s throat and takes great joy in how Steve shivers at the scrape of his beard. 

Steve’s fingers are desperate in their movements over Tony’s armor. He is also, Tony realizes, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Problem?” Tony asks and bites Steve’s collarbone. 

“Get this thing off. I want to touch you.”

“Don’t want me to fuck you in the armor?”

Steve goes completely still for a brief moment and Tony leans back to look at him. 

“You like that idea,” Tony says, realizing.

Steve clears his throat, his gaze turning determined and direct. “You’re strong in the suit,” he says. “A guy like me…”

“I could hold you down,” Tony translates.

“Yes.”

“You want to hold me down?”

Steve strokes Tony’s cheek, grazes his jaw. He grips Tony’s chin and smirks. “A little.”

Tony hits a basic command, and the suit sheds. When Steve touches him, Tony’s brain grinds to a halt. There’s a heady confidence in how Steve strokes his neck and sides, presses his fingers into Tony’s back, clutches at his biceps and wrists. Every touch makes Tony want to sprawl out in a lavish bed and let Steve learn the texture of his skin, inch by inch. 

“You’ve been studying me,” he says against Steve’s mouth.

“You’re hard to look away from,” Steve replies, matter-of-fact. 

“Mm, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Are you planning to talk the whole time?”

“You have met me, right? And this is doing wonders for my self-esteem.” 

“An impressive notch for your bedpost?”

“Darling, you are the bedpost.”

“Is this a dick joke?”

“Maybe. Did I offend your 1940s sensibilities?”

“Believe it or not, Tony, sex was invented before 1945,” Steve says with a grin that makes anticipation twist low in Tony’s gut. “I know my way around.”

“Then hop to, soldier. We’ve got folks waiting on us.”

\--

“So,” Tony says, still waiting for his heartbeat to go back to normal. “How long have you been waiting to do that? Because even with your brilliant tactical mind, Steve, I gotta say that felt planned in advance.”

“I might’ve entertained a fantasy or two,” Steve murmurs, pressing a dry kiss to Tony’s shoulder. 

Tony cups his cheek and Steve nuzzles into the touch. “So. Now what?”

Steve is quiet for a few beats before he sighs and pulls away. “Now,” he says. “We face Nat’s I-told-you-so and go back to the compound. Tomorrow, we’ll talk. A lot.” 

“What, all of us?” Tony asks, following Steve’s lead and getting dressed. 

“Maybe. You and me first.” Steve frowns, disappearing into his own head. “There are things you need to know. I should have told you after SHIELD fell, but I wanted to be sure.”

“Anything in the arena of big red button that will ensure mutual destruction?”

“No.” Steve hesitates. “We should find a place for Bucky. Temporarily—not the compound,” he says as he opens the door.

“I think I may be able to help you with that, Captain.” 

T’Challa stands just beyond the doorway.

“Your highness,” Steve blurts. “I—thank you. For the offer. We can’t ask you to—”

“If it means we can avoid future international incidents and protect all of our people together, then my offer is in all our best interests.” T’Challa looks them over with a careful scrutiny, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I do not wish for us to be manipulated so successfully again…as much as I admire your intra-team negotiation tactics.”

Steve turns an impressive shade of red. Behind him, Tony chokes back a burst of laughter. 

T’Challa raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?” 

He starts down the hall. 

Tony leans his forehead against Steve’s back, shaking with repressed laughter. “Oh my God,” he gasps. “He’s worse than Nat.”

“This is a very bad day,” Steve moans. “How long do you think he was standing there?”

Tony hooks his arm through Steve’s and starts forward, giving up on fighting laughter. “Come on, soldier. Time to face your team.”

Steve tugs him back and into a firm, lingering kiss. “Our team,” he corrects.

Tony grins. “Our team.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also inspired by vorkosigan’s excellent “If You Lived Here, You’d Be Home By Now” (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120636), specifically how that work incorporates a conversation from The Gilmore Girls.


End file.
